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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104987">From The Training Grounds, With Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes'>CupidStrikes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Sylvix Big Bang (Fire Emblem), non-graphic injury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Byleth finds a crumpled love letter. Pining ensues.</p><p>Or, Sylvain and the Curious Incident of the Unsigned Love Letter.</p><p>Written for the Sylvix BigBang | Art by the amazing @Kitty_mints</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvix Big Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From The Training Grounds, With Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Illustrated by the amazing @Kitty_mints .</p><p>This was my first BB and it was so much fun! I hope you enjoy my first foray into Sylvix. Hopefully I've got my writing mojo back so I can contribute more to this delicious pairing &lt;3.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>From The Training Grounds, With Love</strong>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I would like to inform you that it would be acceptable if you should like to join me - </em>
</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please take this letter as proof of my intention to grow closer - </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Absolutely not.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why are you so infuriatingly not un-attractive, even when soaking wet and covered in pond weed? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>No no no no no no no.</p><p> </p><p>Another crumpled ball of paper bounces off the rim of Felix’s bin and rolls under his bed to join several others. He dips his quill into the inkwell again, pulling another sheet of definitely-not-expensive-decorative-paper-bought-specifically-for-this-occasion closer. The neat cursive of Sylvain’s name comes almost naturally at this point (draft 36, if anyone is keeping count, and Felix most certainly <em> is not </em>), but the ink (standard black, the navy he favoured having run out somewhere around draft 19) begins to bleed onto the page as he hesitates over the next sentence, no words seeming to be enough to describe what he feels or how he feels it. How can Felix hope to convey something he can barely admit to himself?</p><p> </p><p><em> I love you? </em> It seems trite, and Felix has seen it flung around carelessly so often that he doubts it would mean a thing to Sylvain. Sylvain who has sat so many times in this very spot and read aloud to Felix as he penned responses to the stack of love letters and marriage proposals he received every week, each one sealed with a wax stamp of the Gautier crest and a roll of his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Dedication? Vows? </p><p> </p><p>The parchment, now stained with hesitation marks, also finds its way into the bin, along with the now-empty ink pot and the blunted pegasus quill, the latter lightly smouldering at the tip.</p><p> </p><p>Felix has always been one to do rather than speak, but even actions seem irrelevant when he thinks about Sylvain. </p><p> </p><p>It had been Dimitri’s stupid idea anyway. Dimitri with his naïve, boorish ideas about love and romance, handing Felix a slim book with a surreptitious wink (like they were friends or something), and a line about wanting to help, about Felix needing to attend the ball and a date being mandatory. Dimitri had still been smiling, even after Felix had snapped at him that he didn’t need any help, especially his, thankyouverymuch, but the book had still ended up on Felix’s desk. Open. At the chapter Dimitri had recommended. Bastard.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Sometimes it can be helpful to write down your feelings in a journal, or in a letter. These do not have to be shared with the recipient, but it may be helpful in condensing the emotions you are feeling and-’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The book finds itself in the bin amongst the discarded letters eventually, too.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This time the letter is made out in red ink, a gift from Ingrid who had insisted she already had plenty and maybe Felix would find some use for it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I think if you could see yourself as I do, you would cease wasting your time with people who are worth neither your breath nor effort. You are a single crystal in a muddy field and I think if I were to live a thousand lifetimes I would not meet someone like you. Despite my efforts, you will not leave my thoughts, and it has become clear that this will not cease until it consumes me. I can only hope that I am not alone in this feeling.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You are the break of dawn which follows the night, and the brightest star in a dark sky, charting me home to the warmth of the hearth.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I would therefore like to extend a hand in invitation to attend the academy ball as your date. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Felix looks down at the letter and sighs sharply. It sounds like something Sylvain might write to one of his fair-weather girlfriends if he were feeling particularly generous. How many times has Sylvain sat in this very spot to read from books on courting and the language of love?</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps -</p><p> </p><p>The bell chiming the end of the afternoon break rings out across the monastery and Felix, grateful for the reprieve, gets up immediately, tucking the latest letter into his dark magic book and leaving his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>He immediately spots a familiar mop of unruly dark hair a short distance down the corridor. Felix clears his throat and approaches.</p><p> </p><p>“Bernadetta-” He flinches as the smaller girl immediately shrieks and jumps away from him, losing her balance in the process.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait -!” He reaches out to catch her, the book falling from his hands as he catches her elbow, his other arm flung out to curl around her upper back. She shakes in his arms, staring up at him like a rabbit caught in a snare. Prey to predator.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” they both say at the same time, Bernadetta’s voice high with terror. Felix nods and straightens up, releases her arm and brushes his uniform down.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh gosh, Felix, I-” Bernadetta fumbles to pick up his fallen books, pushing them into his arms and then running away before he can speak, “I’m sorry!” She calls over her shoulder, “Please don’t hate me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, I-” Felix sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a mess...There was no way she would come out of her room for a week now, and with the Ball only three days away…Ingrid would be furious when she realised it was his fault.</p><p> </p><p>The bell rings again and Felix hurries down to his classroom, not noticing where the letter has come loose, the paper finally slipping out of the book and coming to rest on the wooden floor.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Byleth pauses as they notice an envelope on the floor by one of the pillars in the entrance hall. Frowning, they bend down to pick it up, turning it over. It’s blank - no name or return address - and unsealed, but they recognise the kind of delicately indented paper and gold-adorned envelope  often used for one thing. </p><p> </p><p>A love letter. </p><p> </p><p>And there was only one person they knew with a complicated enough love life to be receiving these kinds of communications outside of the week of courting during the Pegasus Moon.</p><p> </p><p>Smiling faintly, they tuck it into an inner pocket of their robe, next to the bag of horse feed and a worn bookmark they had found in the cathedral.</p><p> </p><p>They really needed to give a lecture on not misplacing objects.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain is leaning across the dining hall table, smiling at a girl over a plate of rabbit stew when Byleth finds him. She’s from a noble family somewhere near Galatea that he pretends he’s familiar with but couldn’t place on a map. No one important enough to be included in any of his father’s numerous letters and potential match-making attempts.</p><p> </p><p>So, no one important.</p><p> </p><p>She, on the other hand, seems to know a lot about him, and it’s almost downright creepy.</p><p> </p><p>“So, tell me again about the dangerous beast.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s twirling a lock of brown hair around her finger as she speaks, her gaze fixed firmly on his mouth as he speaks and he knows she doesn’t give a shit about their latest mission, clearing beasts away from a popular trade route, just like he doesn’t give a shit about her and the way he can almost see her naming their future crest-babies in her mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I -”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain pauses when tapped on the shoulder, looking up into the impassive face of Byleth.</p><p> </p><p>“Professor!” Sylvain sits up immediately, still surprised by the lack of judgement in his professor’s face (or is it that they don’t care? Sylvain is no stranger to that, either). “How can I be of service?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you dropped this,” Byleth holds out a small envelope. It’s not addressed to him but Sylvain receives enough love letters and marriage proposals that it hardly bothers him.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa thanks, you really saved the day there, Professor,” he winks, unbothered by Byleth’s lack of reaction.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Please take better care of your belongings.” </p><p> </p><p>Byleth excuses themselves and leaves.</p><p> </p><p>“So uh, Crystal-”</p><p> </p><p>“Kristen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah, right,” Sylvain smiles at her, “Where were we?” he asks, already half-opening the letter.</p><p> </p><p>Dear Sylvain,</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I think if you could see yourself as I do, you would cease wasting your time with people who are worth neither your breath nor effort. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He glances down at the first line. The cursive is a neat scrawl, no looping tails or heart-dotted ‘i’s, just splotches of red ink like blood drops. Hesitation marks as the writer considered their words. A draft, maybe? The more peculiar thing, however...</p><p> </p><p>It’s unsigned.</p><p> </p><p>No name or insignia, no crest or family coat of arms to give any indication of the sender. Even commoners without anything to their names usually tried to embellish their backgrounds in a bid to convince him why he should impregnate them over anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>“Curious…”</p><p> </p><p>“Something wrong, Sylvain?” </p><p> </p><p>A warm hand on his arm. The girl. Kristen. Right.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Sylvain gets up with a smile, “I have a headache. I’m going to stop by the infirmary and go take a nap. Let’s pick this up another day, hm?” he winks at her, brushing off her offer to accompany him, and leaves the room before she can follow.</p><p> </p><p>An unsigned confession of love. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvain grins as he spots Felix walking ahead. “Felix!” he quickens his pace to catch up and falls into step beside him. He curls an arm around Felix’s shoulders, leaning in closer than is strictly necessary and laughing when Felix immediately pushes him away.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s gotten you so happy?” Felix asks with a frown.</p><p> </p><p>“I got a letter.” Sylvain leans in again, curling his tongue around the ‘L’ with a flourish.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you. Lots of people get letters.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah but not like this letter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is it written in Almyran?”</p><p> </p><p>Refusing to be put off by Felix’s disinterest, Sylvain grins and produces the aforementioned letter with a flourish.</p><p> </p><p>“No no, but I have a secret admirer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really.” Felix stops outside his door. “Thrilling.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain pouts. “Feeeeelix.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix can already feel a headache building. “That's what, the third letter this month?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fifth, not including the proposals my father sent."</p><p> </p><p>"Right, well, I’m sure she just forgot to sign her name. Or she knows her bloodline is incompatible.”</p><p> </p><p>“What if it isn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix pauses with his hand on the door handle, turning to see the way Sylvain’s smile is already drooping at the edges, the look not quite meeting his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“What if it’s real this time?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix goes cold. </p><p> </p><p>He looks straight ahead. Doesn’t look at Sylvain. </p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t want to risk the frustration showing on his face.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that he doesn’t want Sylvain to be happy. He wants Sylvain to be happy even if that means Felix will be <em> un </em>happy. But the small part of him that recognises the sting of moisture in his eyes, that has felt absence like a physical pain for five years, also wants to dig his fingers into the meat of Sylvain’s arms and hold and scream because he’s tired of losing people and if he begs then Sylvain will stay.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain would stay, even if it made him unhappy. But maybe whoever Sylvain thinks wrote that stupid letter is the person he really wants, and if that person isn’t Felix then...</p><p> </p><p>Outwardly, Felix sighs exaggeratedly and pats Sylvain’s arm, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up over nothing,” </p><p> </p><p>Sylvain smiles and squeezes Felix’s hand, his palm hot against Felix’s knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got a good feeling about this one, Fe.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why.” Felix replies flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Because -. Look, the letter doesn’t once mention crests or bloodlines or good breeding or anything like that. Hell, it doesn’t even mention babies or marriage at all. It kinda looks like they tried to use a script but added their own personal touches, so they care enough to do more than the bare minimum. The paper is the really fancy stuff, and the ink too. With the handwriting...they’re probably noble. There’s also this really cute bit where they say I’m ‘infuriating’, isn’t that sweet?” </p><p> </p><p>Felix raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s sweet that you’re annoying?”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“No, but it sounds <em> fond </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“That you’re annoying.” Felix shakes his head and gets up. “At least they aren’t completely blind to your true nature, thank Sothis for small mercies.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain pouts for all of five seconds before the corner of his mouth quirks up again.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re jealous.”</p><p> </p><p>That actually surprises a half-laugh out of Felix. “Me?” He scoffs. “Hardly.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain shrugs and twirls pasta around his fork, pointing it at Felix. “You sound jealous.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have better things to do.” Felix says, with more confidence than he really feels.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhuh. Like training?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, like training. And I’m late. Good luck with…will this be girl number seven this month?”</p><p> </p><p>“Eight, actually. My lucky number.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix resists the urge to roll his eyes as he turns to leave.</p><p> </p><p>A good feeling, huh? Felix pushes his door open, dumps his books onto his desk and immediately heads for the training ground. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever his words, he’s certain that Sylvain will have forgotten this flight of fancy within a week and moved onto the next person with enough charm to hold his interest.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain doesn’t drop it.</p><p> </p><p>Felix has personally seen him reject three different girls, including Sylvain’s ‘on-again-off-again’ reliable from the Alliance, and had overheard Ingrid scolding him for upsetting several others, and he’s heard the budding rumour - Sylvain has a date for the ball, and it’s a secret.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain didn’t have secrets. Not about his love life, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>Most of the academy was, willingly or not, privy to most of the details, even before the year had begun. Felix had wondered why so many of his brief girlfriends were surprised to find out Sylvain was two-timing or three-timing them.</p><p> </p><p>If anything, the lack of knowledge had captivated more of the student body’s attention than if Sylvain had simply relinquished the identity of his mystery sweetheart.</p><p> </p><p>“What does it even say?” Felix finally asks in exasperation, giving up on the innocent dinner roll he had been shredding for the past five minutes.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain, who had been midway through a long (very much one-sided) discussion on the merits of bringing his date blue flowers over pink, perks up at the positive response, pushing his plate aside as he brings  out the letter with a flourish. He unfolds the paper, the corners soft and dog-eared, and clears his throat as he leans closer.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Sylvain, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He begins, glancing up at Felix briefly. They’re close enough that Felix can see the gold tones in his warm brown eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I think if you could see yourself as I do, you would cease wasting your time with people who are worth neither your breath nor effort. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain’s voice fades into so much ringing in Felix’s ears as the crowded dining hall goes silent.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There was no way... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Someone else had checked out the same insipid book from the library. Trashy books on love and romance were commonplace and popular, especially amongst their age and social groups. Someone else, Goddess help them, had gone to Dimitri for advice. </p><p> </p><p>Felix had no mastery for fine words. No amount of etiquette lessons or vexation from his father had managed to cure the bluntness from his writing or guide his hand to more tact.</p><p> </p><p>There was no way Sylvain had been so captivated by his clumsy attempt at romance.</p><p> </p><p>Felix squashes that treacherous glimmer of hope before it could take root and grow into something worse. Even if Sylvain had somehow been charmed by his letter, it wasn’t because it was <em> his </em>, and finding out the truth...Felix could already picture the sheepish, doe-eyed look Sylvain got when he was trying to let a girl down tactfully, and the thought of being the recipient of that look made his heart and stomach both clench, revolt sour on his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>He could destroy the evidence. He was much faster than Sylvain, and he knew from sparring that Sylvain’s reflexes, especially when taken off-guard, were poor. He could tear the letter to shreds, or burn it, and Sylvain then wouldn’t ever be able to make a conclusion, wouldn’t be able to tie the letter to him. </p><p> </p><p>But…</p><p> </p><p>Felix hasn’t seen Sylvain this interested in anything in months, and the part of him that’s still soft (like a bruise, he thinks) can’t help but shy away from any action that would ruin his fun. If the stupid letter was making Sylvain so happy, who was Felix (aside a lovesick fool) to tarnish that?</p><p> </p><p>Although...Sylvain has no idea who had written the letter, and maybe he wouldn’t work it out. Or he would think it was someone else. Felix didn’t do romance. He didn’t do courting, and he certainly didn’t do silly, poetic love letters written in fancy ink on fancy paper, asking Sylvain Jose Gautier, womaniser and flirt extraordinaire, to the Garreg Mach Knight’s Academy annual ball.</p><p> </p><p>Absolutely not.</p><p> </p><p>But if Sylvain thought it was someone else and they weren’t interested...Well, Sylvain usually took rejection well. He might mope for a few days but he always bounced back with renewed vigour and a new girlfriend (or two), and this wouldn’t be any different, right?</p><p> </p><p>Except…Felix knew he hadn’t seen Sylvain this excited and invested in a potential partner in years. Since they were pre-teenagers, in fact, and Sylvain had waxed poetic about a new cook, just a little older than he was, who had vanished from the Gautier’s employ just a few months later….</p><p> </p><p>Ruining Sylvain’s day, and denting his ego, was far better than ruining their friendship, and hadn’t they already lost enough?</p><p> </p><p>Back in the present, Sylvain is still talking.</p><p> </p><p>“ -not signing. Maybe it’s in code?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix blinks stupidly.</p><p> </p><p>“...What?”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain sighs, putting his spoon back in his empty bowl (when had he finished eating?)</p><p> </p><p>“I said, maybe it’s written in some sort of code. Like a riddle or something.”</p><p> </p><p>At Felix’s confused look, Sylvain continues.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe that’s why it isn’t signed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or maybe it’s a fake,” Felix shrugs and picks up his barely-touched food as he stands up from the table. “Or worse, it’s no one worth your time,”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Sylvain’s shoulders slump slightly even as the smile doesn’t waver.</p><p> </p><p>Distantly, Felix feels bad for being so harsh but he can barely think past the urgency to get back to his room and check his desk for the letter.</p><p> </p><p>The corridors are blessedly quiet - most students at the dining hall or in the tea gardens - as Felix walks-definitely-doesn’t-run back to his room. He shoves the papers on his desk aside, upsetting one of the piles of books which he immediately begins to leaf through.</p><p> </p><p>One. Two. Three.</p><p> </p><p>The entire assigned reading for the semester. Each sheet of parchment checked (twice).</p><p>Behind the desk. Under the bed. Between the floorboards.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not there.</p><p> </p><p>The letter is gone.</p><p> </p><p>Cold panic slides down his spine as Felix paces sharple back and forth between his desk and the chair. Maybe he threw it in the bin after all and forgot? Or it was one of the unfortunate </p><p> </p><p>“Goddess why…” he whispers, pressing his palms to his eyes. He sits down on the edge of his bed, wincing as he puts his weight on something hard. Reaching under his thigh he pulls out a book. <em> The Fine Art of Confession </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Scowling, Felix shoves the book onto his desk again and gets up. </p><p> </p><p>Dimitri.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This is all his fault. </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“You.” Felix jabs a finger in Dimitri’s face across the dining table.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Felix, how can I be -” Dimitri looks up from the plate of rice and some sort of meat curry he’s been picking at.</p><p> </p><p>“This is all your fault.” Felix snaps, just barely keeping his voice lowered as he leans over the table and into Dimitri’s space.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure I follow,” Dimitri, to his credit, doesn’t lean back, even as they’re almost nose to nose.</p><p> </p><p>“The letter, you stupid boar.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. <em> Ah. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Did it not help?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix is sure there must be some sort of award or medal he deserves for not punching Dimitri in his stupid fucking face right there.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Dimitri, no it didn’t.” He hisses between clenched teeth. “Sylvain knows.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Say ‘ah’ one more fucking time, boar-”</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri holds up his hands in surrender. They’re bare. The few nicks and scars standing out dark against the pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are your gloves?”</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri looks down, as if noticing for the first time, and folds his hands in his lap. “I was helping Dedue in the kitchen. You need bare hands when preparing food.”<br/><br/></p><p>“But I thought you couldn’t -”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter.” Dimitri picks up his spoon again, “It feels nice.” He doesn’t clarify if he means the food or the cooking of it.  “Dedue is a very patient and skilled teacher. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to teach you.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix opens his mouth to protest.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain likes his cooking,” Dimitri adds. “I bet he’d like it even more if you were involved.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, boar.” Felix hisses and puts a spoonful of food in his mouth before he loses his temper. </p><p> </p><p>It’s delicious. The perfect balance of spice and warmth, the kind of thing Sylvain loves.The Gautier lands are cold year-round and some days the only way to banish the core-deep chill is hot food or the sharp alcohol that the region favours.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Felix should consider...</p><p> </p><p>“May I ask a question?” Dimitri seems to take Felix’s continued silence as permission, “Why did you give it to him if you didn’t want him to receive it?”<br/><br/>“I didn’t give it to him, you bone-headed-”<br/><br/>“Hey guys.”</p><p> </p><p>Both of them look up as Sylvain joins them with a grin, putting his tray down and sliding into the seat beside Dimitri as if Felix threatening Dimitri is a regular occurrence, which it kind of is.</p><p> </p><p>“Good afternoon, Sylvain,” Dimitri turns to face him with a smile, takes in the way that Sylvain’s shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, his neatly combed hair.  “Ah.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix watches the twitch of Sylvain’s fingers around his silverware, and the way he’s pushing his food around his plate without taking a bite.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t play with your food.” </p><p> </p><p>“Huh? Oh.” Sylvain puts his spoon down. Picks it up again and puts it in his bowl.</p><p> </p><p>“I uh, I think I figured it out.” Sylvain all but rushes the words out, excitement coiled around each word like a snare. “The letter. I mean. Who wrote it.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s wonderful!”  Dimitri claps his hands together as Felix scowls and stabs at his rice.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain smiles. “It was real simple once I thought about it,”</p><p> </p><p>“We have our class mission first, don’t forget.” Felix reminds them both, ruining their fun proving only a mild balm to his own fouling mood. “Unless you’re intent on never progressing in your exams.”<br/><br/></p><p>Sylvain lets out a long sigh then leans over and pokes Felix’s cheek, making the smaller man squawk and slap at his hand in protest.</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh fine, killjoy.” Sylvain sticks his tongue out, “I’ll tell her after, when I’m all victorious and handsome from our victory.”</p><p> </p><p>Felix tries not to think too hard about that image. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way.” He stands up, taking his tray to the kitchen and stalking off the training grounds to prepare.</p><p>
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</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The mission is a shitshow from the beginning.</p><p> </p><p>Rain clouds swallow the sunlight a mere half hour after they leave, the downpour quickly saturating the ground and swelling the rivers, and by the time they arrive at their destination (cursing the confusing directions given by the client) they’re all wet to the skin. Felix is muddy up to his thighs and realised an hour ago that the squelching accompanying his steps is from water that had crept into his boots, and not from the sodden earth beneath.</p><p> </p><p>Felix isn’t a stranger to being cold or wet on missions. It snows in Faerghus for most of the year and you get used to it fast but the wetness of snow, and the wetness of stinking mud, which makes his clothes stick to his skin and will take hours to scrub out later, is different, and Felix hates it. </p><p> </p><p>Even Mercedes’ usual cheer is dampened by the weather, and Felix is sure he can see the beginnings of frustration when they reach their destination. </p><p> </p><p>The ‘bandit camp’ is a handful of lopsided tents in a clearing.</p><p> </p><p>Byleth walks ahead of them, feeling the coals in the fire pits for any lingering warmth and checking the tattered remains of the tents for any indicators that anyone might be returning.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this it?” Felix hears Ashe ask no one in particular. Beside them, Sylvain’s mare snorts and shakes its head as Sylvain murmurs softly to her, voice low and soothing against the ever-present sound of rain.</p><p> </p><p>Byleth straightens up, shaking damp ash from their fingers. Dimitri stands beside them, worry etched into his brow as they speak briefly.</p><p> </p><p>“We will return to the monastery.” Dimitri announces a moment later to several badly-muffled groans from a few of them, “We will take the West road to-”</p><p> </p><p>He’s cut off as an arrow embeds itself into a tree just feet away from his head, the thunk followed a second later by another as a second arrow lands in the dirt, and the distinctive crackle of a Lightning spell rumbles throw the air. To Felix’s left someone - Ingrid? - screams and his sword is already half-drawn by the time Byleth yells above the growing noise.</p><p> </p><p>They were surrounded.</p><p> </p><p>They had been tricked.</p><p> </p><p>Anger flares in Felix’s belly and he grits his teeth as he meets the first charging bandit, slicing through their hide armour with ease and following it with a spell of his own to make sure he had finished the job.</p><p> </p><p>He turns to gauge his next target but the previously empty camp is already overrun. Filthy with mud, it’s hard to distinguish his allies from their foes and Felix loses precious seconds making sure he’s not about to cut down another Blue Lion before sinking his blade into another bandit.</p><p> </p><p>Felix loses count of how many he’s killed somewhere nearing ten, and the few glances he’s managed to steal of the surrounding area between attacks looks like they’ve barely made a dent in the numbers. He can see flashes of Annette’s magic and across the clearing Dedue’s bulk is visible above a group of bandits as he easily cleaves through them. But where is -</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain!”</p><p> </p><p>He hears Ashe’s scream before he spots a flash of red hair through a gap in the trees, Sylvain being pursued by a group of bandits. Tugging his sword free of his last victim, Felix breaks away and runs towards it, drawing close just in time to be caught in the ribs by a club. </p><p> </p><p>The force of the blow knocks him off his feet and he lands in the mud with a winded gasp, his sword falling from his hands. </p><p> </p><p>Felix gets a hand under himself, fumbling for his sword with the other but his fingers are half-numb with cold and useless.</p><p> </p><p>He looks up in time to see the bandit who had felled him raise his club again and this close and with his magic supplies depleted, Felix knows it’s useless, too late, and his father would have to bury his second son, and Sylvain would take some stupid noble girl to the ball and-</p><p> </p><p>“Get away from him!” </p><p> </p><p>Red bursts across Felix’s vision and his head throbs with screams. One, unfamiliar in all but the tone of the dying, and the other...the other…</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain!”</p><p> </p><p>A strong hand curls hot around his upper arm, tugging Felix to his feet and pushing his sword back into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain, face smeared with blood and dirt, his wet hair flat against his skull, grins down at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Be careful, Fe, you don’t want me coming out as MVP again do you?” His tone is far too light for the circumstances, but irritation is slow to come.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever.” Felix’s fingers lock sure around the hilt of his blade again as he pulls out of Sylvain’s grip.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Felix.” Sylvain leans in as his fingers tighten briefly on his arm before his eyes roll into the back of his head and he slumps against Felix.</p><p> </p><p>Felix struggles under the weight of Sylvain’s armoured bulk, his arms automatically wrapping around him protectively even as the sounds of fighting fade out. He scrambles out from under him, rolling Sylvain onto his back with some difficult. </p><p> </p><p>His hands come away red.</p><p> </p><p>Screaming, somewhere off in the distance.</p><p> </p><p>Absently, Felix is aware it must be coming from his own throat, but everything beyond the body beneath his hands is beyond his reach as he searches for breath. A pulse. Anything. His fingers find only grave cold skin.</p><p> </p><p>Then there are hands covering his own and someone firmly prying him just far enough away from Sylvain that Mercedes and Annette can press glowing hands to his chest. The hands - Byleth’s - smooth over Felix’s onto Sylvain’s calf.</p><p> </p><p>They speak to him, voice and expression soft in a way they wouldn’t have been months prior, but Felix can’t make out the words as he watches the white magic pulse through Sylvain’s body.</p><p> </p><p>Felix stares ahead into Sylvain until his vision blurs into double and then white noise</p><p>
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</p><p>***</p><p>
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</p><p>“Felix?” </p><p> </p><p>Felix recognises Sylvain’s steps even before he calls his name and knocks on the door. Sylvain still knocks the same way as when they were kids, sleeping over at each others’ houses whilst their parents danced around treaties and formalities - five short, rhythmic knocks, his name following on the last one.</p><p> </p><p>Felix has been thinking a lot about their childhoods recently. It had been so easy to keep Sylvain in his sight then, to keep a tiny fist curled around his sleeve or cloak or trouser leg.</p><p> </p><p>It’s only by virtue of Sylvain’s inability to leave that has kept him in his life since the Tragedy, and Felix knows he’s running out of time.</p><p> </p><p>“Felix?”</p><p> </p><p>Outside his door, Sylvain is still waiting. </p><p> </p><p>Inside, Felix brings the blankets up higher. The white sheets come away flecked red, his fingers still darkened with blood. </p><p> </p><p>Sylvain’s blood.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain yelling his name as he shoves Felix to the floor, the final syllable lost in a cry that will lurk at the edges of Felix’s mind for the rest of his life. </p><p> </p><p>“Felix?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix throws back the stained blankets and stomps to the door, throwing it open and glaring up into Sylvain’s stupidly beautiful face.</p><p> </p><p>He’s wearing a casual Blue Lions uniform that looks a size too big, bandages peeking over the loose neckline. There’s a smear of dried blood on his neck and he’s barefoot.</p><p> </p><p>“You came straight from the infirmary?” Felix winces as he speaks, the words sounding angry.</p><p> </p><p>But he <em> is </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah,” Sylvain replies like it’s a foregone conclusion.</p><p> </p><p>Felix is already across the room and snarling by the time his brain catches up and he makes a small, frustrated noise before pointing at the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Sit down.”</p><p> </p><p>“But -”</p><p> </p><p>“Sit.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain does a little half-shrug and goes to sit down on the bed. “Are you gonna say I’m a ‘good boy’?” Sylvain asks, mouth split wide into a grin he absolutely shouldn’t be able to muster right now, and that absolutely robs Felix of whatever he had been about to say.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He replies eloquently.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Good boy’? Y’know, because I’m a -”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Felix shakes his head. Sylvain just shrugs and leans back.</p><p> </p><p>“Aww Felix, you wound me,” Sylvain presses a hand to his chest dramatically, Felix following the movement as his fingers brush the very real bandages over his very real wounds.</p><p> </p><p>“Me?” Felix can already feel the headache forming, “Me? I wound you? What about you!?”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain’s look of confusion only infuriates Felix further. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you think you’re doing constantly throwing yourself into harm’s way as if it doesn’t matter? This isn’t a game, Sylvain, one wrong move and you’re dead. For real. Forever.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain opens his mouth to reply.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t.” </p><p> </p><p>Sylvain closes his mouth again.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” Felix wants to grab Sylvain’s stupidly broad shoulders and shake him until maybe he’ll rattle his sense of self-preservation free. “Why do you always do this? And don’t you dare say you think I need you to protect me because I’ll gut you myself if you do. </p><p> </p><p>“Damnit, Sylvain, haven’t we lost enough?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix is faintly aware that his fingers are shaking, each breath hurting his lungs, and above all…</p><p> </p><p>He’s tired. Exhausted. </p><p> </p><p>“Haven’t we lost enough?” He repeats, sinking into the chair in front of his desk and leaning back to stare at the ceiling, the cracks in the paint begin to blur. He breathes out slowly and closes his eyes, pressing the meat of his palms against his face until colours burst across the darkness of his eyelids.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t lose you too. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The silence looms between them, filling the space and sucking the air out of the room until Felix’s chest feels ready to burst.</p><p> </p><p>On the bed, Sylvain shifts his weight from one side to the other, the mattress creaking quietly under his left thigh. Felix knows there are more bandages under the soft material of his loose trousers, one covering most of his thigh where a sniper had shot an arrow into the gaps in his armour, and if he looks hard enough he’s sure he can see the faint outline of a darker stain against the fabric. </p><p> </p><p>Felix fights to suppress a shudder as he remembers the noise Sylvain had made when he had fallen from his horse. The noise the archer had made when Felix’s blade had sliced through his throat seconds later. The tight pinch of Mercedes’ lips as she pulled the arrow free later, blood spilling up over her fingers faster than her magic could close the wound.</p><p> </p><p>It could have so easily gone the other way.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain could have so easily…</p><p> </p><p>Felix often wonders how Glenn died. Dimitri had attempted to talk to him about it once or twice, in case Felix <em> wanted to know what really happened</em>. But Felix had snarled him into silence on all occasions, not wanting to hear it with his insipid excuses and self-hating platitudes. He knew what had happened. Glenn was dead and Dimitri was alive. He wasn’t sure if Dimitri had even seen it, or if he were just trying to reassure Felix it was <em> quick </em> and <em> painless </em>, like everyone else had done, as if that somehow made it okay.</p><p> </p><p>As if they could have known that when all that was left to retrieve days later was his armour (dented and bloodied, Felix had seen it briefly before his father had had it sent away to be cleaned before displaying it like some sort of trophy). Felix knew Glenn and Felix knew no knight of Fraldarius would ever allow a death that was quick or painless, something easy for the enemy to dispatch.</p><p> </p><p>Felix often wonders how Glenn died, how he felt in those last moments. If he felt at peace knowing that his blood was spilled rather than Dimitri’s or King Lambert’s or someone else, and he wonders if Sylvain feels the same stupid peace as he throws himself in front of weapons and spells again and again until Felix is sick to the back of his throat of the three hard chairs in front of the infirmary and the sad way Manuela’s lips curve downward whenever one of her patients is a student.</p><p> </p><p>Felix remembers the way it felt to stand in front of Glenn’s headstone, the carved marble and empty grave beneath it such an inadequate reminder for what had been lost. He remembers the maw of nothing inside him, keeps the memory close for days when getting out of bed or running through sword drills is hard, as a reminder of too much and never again, and he knows that losing again (losing Sylvain) would consume him.</p><p> </p><p>Hadn’t he lost enough?</p><p> </p><p>“Can I talk now?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix’s shoulders slump as he waves a hand dismissively, eyes cracking open to watch Sylvain with exhaustion so deep it almost hurts. “If you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you don’t need protecting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Flames, you are so infuriating stupid it’s a wonder that-”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain’s face suddenly lights up and he leans forward, putting his hands on the desk either side of Felix, effectively trapping him.</p><p> </p><p>“...What?” Felix leans back instinctively.</p><p> </p><p>“It was you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” </p><p> </p><p>“It was you. The letter. You wrote it.”</p><p> </p><p>Every muscle in Felix’s body goes taught as fight-or-flight kicks in and the room fades away to only Sylvain above him. Sylvain above him and knowing and there’s no way he can’t see it on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you did,” Sylvain grins, lightly bouncing on his feet, “You wrote it. I should have known.” He pushes off from the desk to pace the room. Once. Twice. Before returning, not leaning quite so close this time.</p><p> </p><p>Felix firmly squashes his feeling of disappointment.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t prove it.” He lifts his chin.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain snorts and leans down, reaching under Felix’s bed and not quite smothering a hiss of pain as he does so.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain-!”</p><p> </p><p>“Here.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain places a crumpled ball of paper into Felix’s outstretched hand (when had that happened?).</p><p> </p><p>“Same ink, same paper. Why did you never tell me you could write so pretty?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix just stares down at the ball of paper in his hand. Sylvain takes the letter out from his shirt. It’s smeared with blood. “You took it to the battlefield with you?” Felix asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhuh,” Sylvain shrugs, a hint of pink blooming on his cheeks,”For luck or something, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s simultaneously the most ridiculous and most touching thing Felix has ever heard.</p><p> </p><p>“Guess I don’t need it now that I have the real thing, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re assuming a lot.” Felix mumbles as a token protest, even as he feels the corner of his mouth curl upwards.</p><p> </p><p>“Well you did say I’m an ass.”</p><p> </p><p>“And -”</p><p> </p><p>And…</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain plucks something from the pile of books on Felix’s desk.</p><p> </p><p>“I should have recognised it. I leant this book to Dimitri at the beginning of the year.”</p><p> </p><p>Gold-trimmed cover. ‘The Art of Confession’ printed in a neat, gold flourish. Dimitri’s stupid markers still sticking out from the pages.</p><p> </p><p>It’s over.</p><p> </p><p>Felix’s mouth twists into a grimace as he leans back into the chair, staring at a point on the floor on the other side of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Well done, you figured it out. Congratulations.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I wasn’t meant to see it, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix flicks his gaze upwards and freezes as his eyes meet Sylvain’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you change your mind?”</p><p> </p><p>Felix scowls. “Of course not I-”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain leans in and Felix’s words collapse on his tongue. He swallows, licks his lips (and tells himself he doesn’t notice Sylvain’s eyes follow the movement or the way that sends heat flaring through him).</p><p> </p><p>“I -” Felix’s ears ring, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“I meant it.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s barely a whisper but it’s deafening between them.</p><p> </p><p>Felix puts a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder to push him away. Sylvain takes it, his palm hot against Felix’s knuckles as his fingers weave between Felix’s and hold on tight.</p><p> </p><p>“I accept.” Sylvain’s voice is soft but the words ring through Felix until his heart stutters over the next beat.</p><p> </p><p>Felix turns his hand so he can squeeze. He’s always been clumsy with words, always preferred actions but he’s out of his depth here and so he just squeezes Sylvain’s hand like he never wants to let go.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain just smiles and squeezes back.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I kiss you?” </p><p> </p><p>The question takes Felix off-guard but he nods, the roar of blood in his ears building to a crescendo as Sylvain leans in. </p><p> </p><p>His lips press against Felix’s and Felix forgets how to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Felix has never held any illusions about his complete lack of skill with intimacy and love. His relationship with his father was delicate at best, and he can count the number of people at Garreg Mach he could reliably consider friends on one hand. He doesn’t remember the last time he instigated or even desired more than mutual respect and someone to rely on on the battlefield. He knows fundamentally how this all works, Rodrigue having awkwardly explained his way through it in excruciating clinical details to a scowling Felix, but nothing could have prepared him for this.</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain kisses like fire. Like he wants to consume Felix and everything that he is, and Felix is all too happy to self-immolate.</p><p> </p><p>When they break apart, Feix gasps like a man half-drowned, holding onto Sylvain’s shoulders with shaking fingers as the other man presses small kisses down his jaw.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain.”</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain hums in response but doesn’t stop in trailing open-mouthed kisses down Felix’s throat to the exposed skin of his collarbone, each touch of his lips like a brand on Felix’s flesh.</p><p> </p><p>“Sylvain.” Felix accompanies the world this time by sinking his fingers into Sylvain’s hair and lightly tugging.</p><p> </p><p>This time Sylvain obliges and pulls back. His lips are darker and slick with saliva. It’s something which should logically disgust Felix, and yet the sight of it makes his skin prickle all over with heat.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s up, Fe? </p><p> </p><p>Felix clicks his tongue and drags Sylvain’s mouth back against his. The movement is clumsy and their teeth clack together, but Sylvain rights the angle with just a small tilt of his head and presses his tongue up against Felix’s bottom lip.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Sylvain begins again, kissing Felix again before he can protest. One of Sylvain’s arms has secured itself around Felix’s waist, drawing him ever closer to the warm expanse of Sylvain’s chest, the other still between them with his fingers tightly twined to Felix’s. “Ball? Me. You. Fancy itchy dress uniform?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have no other plans that night.” Felix concedes after a pause, feeling Sylvain grin into the next kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a date.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
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